Back in the pioneering days
I drifted, star-struck,
To the isle of Joyce and Van the Man,
And fell among salesmen.
Portal to the picaresque -
Bagman for a swivelling boss
Backlit with trophies
Above a pub in smoky Dublin.
Chaotic dreamers -
Commission-only desperadoes
On the run from ordinary -
Late-night laughers
Trying to memorise a script.
Today, my fellow-veterans
Look back from Intercon or Plaza
To pin-point glory -
The day the drill of language sprang
The cash-box of the world.
